A Meditation on Masks
by Mac1
Summary: Masks, masques, and masquerades. Internal reflection. A series of moments and hidden thoughts.
1. Masks

Title: A Meditation on Masks  
Author: Mac  
Summary: A phone call triggers a reflection.  
Story: Single character POV  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: All things CSI belong to CBS, et al. All other things are of my creation.  
  
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to the newest member of my family, my nephew (who is currently less than a day old), Jacen Paul. May I corrupt you into being a scientist before you are in middle school.  
  
**A Meditation on Masks**  
  
The phone woke me up at that point where you were neither quite asleep nor awake. Grissom had sent me home after working three days non-stop on a case. Everything had been going fine and dandy until the mini conference in Grissom's office. At least she had convinced him to leave as well.   
  
I found the missing piece after spending half the day on the computer. When I was in school, I never thought that my insomnia and addiction to the computer lab would come in handy as a forensic scientist. As a research physicist, yes, but not as a forensic scientist.  
  
My roommate from college was on the other end. We had both been the nerds of our wing, preferring to wake up on a Saturday morning and do homework, rather than sleep in and recover from a hangover as a result from the previous evening; that way we could go to a party that night without feeling guilty. We double dated several times, acting as a chaperone for each other. We were the only ones on our floor that roomed for the entirety of our college career, and vowed that we wouldn't slip away from our friendship upon graduation. And we hadn't. Every Saturday she would call me in the afternoon and I would call her on varying days during the week. More often though, I would drop her an e-mail.  
  
The words coming down the line ramble on, just like usual. My thoughts are halted by the words "of course, you'd be Auntie Sara." Auntie Sara? I'm an only child, how can I be an aunt. Wait she wants me to go visit her, Craig, and the baby? Would I be willing to stand with them for the baptism and accept the role of godmother? Ye gods!  
  
I may not understand people very well, but Sarah and I have always been on the same level. Sort of like Grissom and myself. I'll admit I have crush on the guy. I mean who wouldn't? He's not too tall, but he's not short. He expects you to be respectful of all things science even if it goes right over your head. I was floored by his seminar several years ago. I'll admit that I wasn't all too keen about bugs, but after working in the coroner's office for a few years I had a healthy respect for them. When the seminar came up, I was chosen as the youngest member of the shift to attend a three-day forensic seminar. Doctor G. Grissom was the keynote speaker.  
  
Not many people enjoyed his speech, in fact several people left during the middle of it disgusted. But I was mesmerized. He had dedicated himself to a science wholly and it didn't faze him that others thought him to be gruesome. I spent as much time as possible in his workshops. When I found out he was staying at the same hotel I was, I was thrilled. Over the course of the three days I learned a lot. And that's what I crave most when I'm around him.  
  
The pursuit of knowledge. That is what I hope I am able to do contribute to by emulating him. He teaches me something different every time we work together. Not everything he teaches comes straight from him. Some of Catherine's influence is there, mixed with his words. I know she knows about me. I think that's why she was as distant as she was when we first met, but I also know that isn't who she is. We all wear masks to protect ourselves from the world, afraid to let anyone see who we truly are. Except to only a few special people. She and I have a few things in common. One of them is we get to see the real Grissom. No one really sees who I am.  
  
"Hey, Sara. You still there?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm still here. I just got lost in thought."  
  
"Really? Thinking about the bug-guy?" Sarah was really the only one who knew me well enough to see through the mask I wear. I had told her about the conference so often that she accused me of being in love with the speaker. I denied it, but did admit that I would love it if he thought of me as something other than the annoying girl that practically followed him everywhere.  
  
"In a way. So, do you think it's too early to get him a subscription to a science magazine?"  
  
Sarah and I talk about who will be the more corruptive influence on her little boy, his grandparents, parents, or me. Maybe I can convince Grissom to lend a hand, or maybe everyone on the team. As we hang up, I want to share the news with someone. But I don't know whom. Catherine would be the logical choice since she's a mom, an aunt, and a woman. Warrick would be dumbfounded that I was confiding in him. Greg would think I was coming on to him. Grissom. I don't know, I think he would just be blankly staring at the phone wondering why I was telling him this. Nick is my age, he has all sorts of experience with being an uncle, maybe- no, that would just lead to questions I don't want to answer. Maybe I should start off by joining in on the birthday pool for Lindsey and get her something. It's time that I let someone else in. 


	2. Masks and Masques

Title: A Meditation on Masks  
Summary: Masks, masques, and masquerades. Internal reflection. A series of moments and hidden thoughts.  
Story: Single character POVs  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: All things CSI belong to CBS, et al. All other things are of my creation.  
  
Author's Note: This idea has grown on me, so I've decided to expand upon it. Feedback and reviews are welcome as always.  
  
**Masques and Masks**  
  
I feel as though we are in a scene from the Bard. To think she knows me yet not know me is a wonder. I would love to get my hands on the person who provided this inspiration. I find it appropriate that there is a decided Renaissance feel to the night. Where else would you find Titania chatting with Don Quixote except at this party. I don't know why I agreed to come. The clock struck ten and I felt the vibrator from the pager go off in my pocket.  
  
Glancing at the display I find that I've been paged for an appearance at a 419. So much for a social life. There are times when I hate being on call, but tonight I am grateful for it. When she talked me into going tonight, I wanted to make up for having to break several dates. Now I have to leave a dull party and piece together the life of someone else. I hand my now cold hot toddy to a waiter and approach her. This will probably be the last time she'll let this happen.  
  
She doesn't say it, but her eyes tell me that I shouldn't call her again. I've run out of chances. That's been happening a lot lately. One would think that professional women would understand having to balance work with a personal life, but apparently the rules are different for men.  
  
I lay my feathered cap in the passenger seat before driving off. I don't know why I try any more. I feel as though every day I've been wearing a mask. The mask changes shape, but it doesn't change its purpose. I hide a little portion of myself from everyone. At the stop light I look down at my attire and chuckle. I forgot to bring other clothes with me. I can hide the doublet under the wind breaker, but the lower half of my costume, although black, will definitely be the cause of many comments for months on end. At least I keep an extra pair of sneakers in the back so I can change into them.  
  
I pull up at the crime scene and shrug into the jacket and manage to get my shoes on. I open the door and tie my shoes before getting out. As I collect my gear I can hear the murmurs behind me. Steeling myself I put on yet another mask, turn, and face the silly grins of two co-workers. 


	3. Hidden Masks

Title: A Meditation on Masks  
Author: Mac  
Summary: Masks, masques, and masquerades. Internal reflection. A series of moments and hidden thoughts.  
Story: Single character POV  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: All things CSI belong to CBS, et al. All other things are of my creation.  
  
  
**Hidden Masks**  
  
We all hide something. Whether it's a demon, a part of our past, or regrets, we still hide behind masks of false happiness. We work together all night, yet none of us really knows each other. All we know is what the other allows us to see.  
  
To everyone it seems that I'm confident and outgoing. I wear a mask underneath my normal self. There are things that no one knows about, things that haunt me morning, noon, and night. Especially the night, which, I guess, is why I work at night. That way the demons of my past can't attack me.  
  
But even as I work, it comes back to haunt me. I can't let go of it. Usually I manage to hide it, but every now and then it comes up and slaps me in the face, taunting me, daring me to throw away the mask that guards its cell.  
  
I tried to do so once and managed for less than a day. Analysts say that if you talk about your fears with someone, they lessen. Not this one. This fear, this hidden demon has only become greater after its revelation. I've tried to tell someone else, but every time I work up the courage to do so something happens. A case distracts me, the timing isn't right for the situation. There's a saying that bad things always come in threes.  
  
This demon came as one, exists as one, is hidden as one, but it seems to be all engulfing. So instead, I hide. I hide behind an easy-going, confident persona and it fools everyone. During middle school I was too studious. I read just about anything that came my way, but during the summer between middle school and high school, my dad said he was worried about me. So began the formation of my mask. After so many years, I don't know if I could just simply let it go.  
  
To be or not to be. That is not an easy question. Neither is "who are you?" I strive to find the peace inside. Like Catherine or Grissom. Catherine's life has been hung out to dry on several occasions, but she rolls with the punches. Grissom simply does what he loves, doesn't want to look at anything outside of his world, his focus.  
  
They're both at peace with who they are. They accept their demons, they've faced them and moved on. I wish I had the courage to face mine. 


	4. Keeping Masks

**Keeping Masks**  
  
Masks come in all shapes and sizes. There are so many variations that you cannot be quite sure that the faces seen everyday are real. Sometimes masks are the only way to protect us from doing harm to others or oneself. Of all the masks that people wear, it is the invisible ones that we treasure the most.  
  
We may hide behind our profession or professionalism in the futile hopes that no one will notice. Unfortunately, there is always someone who has known you for so long that they can sense when you are hiding something. Some will constantly say something to get you to open up and talk, and then there are the ones that just observe, slowly putting two and two together in the effort to have all the pieces of the puzzle before taking you one on one. Of course, there is also the one who uses both tactics for different reasons, and they are the ones to really watch out for. They are the ones that can slowly inch themselves closer and closer to the truth, and, without actually arriving at it, break in and steal the mask that you are holding most tightly.  
  
I am on an almost constant vigil to keep the mask that I hold most dear because if I lose it, I don't know what I will do. It has become such a large part of who I am that the cracks that have formed are beginning to worry me. Some of the cracks are getting to be so large that I don't know if I can fix it. What worries me most is that some of the cracks I don't want to fix; they've been there so long that I couldn't imagine my mask without them.  
  
But each crack also comes from someone that has earned their right to make that crack. The deep ones are the hardest for me to look at, especially ones that form almost over night. The more shallow ones are easier; some are mere scratches on the surface that came from glancing blows. The deep ones however started as a tiny pinprick and over time eroded into the crack they are now.  
  
Despite the memories that accompany my mask, I find that a part of me wishes to just begin anew. But in my attempts to throw it away and forge a newer, stronger one, I find that who I have become may irretrievably be lost and that is not a good thing.  
  
So I look at myself in the mirror and decide to just build new reinforcements and hope that in spite of all the banging away that those I work with continually do, I will be able to keep my mask. But in the end, I realize that every effort I make to retain my mask will only result in another piece being chipped away. This may be a losing fight, but I will hold on for as long as possible. 


	5. Armor

**Armor**  
  
I have fought for years to get to where I am. Now I find that I have to be stronger than ever before. If I can't be, then I may lose everything that I have worked so hard for.  
  
There are days and even weeks when I feel as though I have been in a battle of old. Everything has turned against me. My best friend and I rarely find the time to talk about anything other than work. And when we do, it's as if we are just meeting again for the first time and awkward silence fills the gap between us. So, I have begun to hide behind battle worn masks. I have a hidden mask for my feelings. I thought that I wouldn't need it as much now that I was on my own, but then in one night it came out encasing my heart as though it had been forged anew.  
  
I know I need to express the betrayal I'm feeling, but I can't. I'm afraid that if I do, then I won't be able to stop. "If" is a funny word. For most, it is part of what makes them curious; for me it's the beginning of a nightmare that is seemingly never ending. So I hide and try to become one with my chosen profession. But that is impossible. I have other responsibilities in my life. I may appear single, but I'm not.  
  
I see the looks of concern sent my way during the shift, but I can't give in. Not yet, not until I know I will be able to resurface from letting go of the barricade on my emotions. I spend as much time as I can with my daughter and let go a little for her sake. Someday I will be able to let go without fear, but for now I will wear the armor forged from the fires of guilt, anger, and frustration. 


End file.
